


How Christine Fell In Love

by Sleepygoof8784



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Baby Fic, F/M, Mirror Universe, Threats of Violence, no one is harmed in this fic, twisted relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 01:41:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1492063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepygoof8784/pseuds/Sleepygoof8784
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moment Christine realizes she's fallen in love, she wonders if she's signed her own death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Christine Fell In Love

**Title:** How Christine Fell In Love  
 **Rating:** Hard R  
 **Pairing:** McCoy/Chapel  
 **Word Count:** 4,150  
 **Warnings:** Mirrorverse, hinted at torture, mentions of a baby (not harmed though)  
 **Summary:** The moment Christine realizes she's fallen in love, she wonders if she's signed her own death.

 **A/N:** Originally posted to LJ and written for the [Mirrorverse Remix Challenge](http://community.livejournal.com/issenterprise/62570.html) at [](http://issenterprise.livejournal.com/profile)[**issenterprise**](http://issenterprise.livejournal.com/). I was assigned the always delightful and talented [](http://izzyfics.livejournal.com/profile)[**izzyfics**](http://izzyfics.livejournal.com/), and this story is a remix of her [Skills](http://izzyfics.livejournal.com/60033.html#cutid1). (Go read it!) I have to thank my beta [](http://melsiex0381.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://melsiex0381.livejournal.com/)**melsiex0381** for her quick work. Also, it is worth noting, this is my first attempt at mirrorverse, and I'm terribly nervous and worried I didn't do Izzy justice. So encouraging feedback would be cherished.

 

Christine feels her heart skip a beat, a feat that she didn't know could still be accomplished, and her vision narrow to nothing but the broad shoulders she knows all too well belong to her CMO.  But it's the baby boy nestled in his arms that makes her consider committing career suicide and would surely cost her a few pints of blood and some time in an agonizer booth. She feels terror strike through her, terror she hasn't felt in a long while. McCoy is not exactly the gentlest man on the ship, and she is all too aware of his masochistic tendencies, particularly since Captain Kirk had given her to McCoy when he took over from Pike. 

 

Christine tries not to focus on that particular event.  She'd been one of Pike's women.  Not his only, though she was until he had finally taken Number One to his bed-why he'd waited so long Christine couldn't profess to know-but even after Number One was the captains' woman, she was still called to his bed often enough.  Pike had been the type to enjoy many women, and while she wouldn't characterize him as gentle he didn't enjoy the pain like McCoy, or the humiliation that made Kirk tick.  She'd been his woman too, after he'd put Pike in a wheel chair and taken his ship, a merciful mutiny if there ever was one.  Pike had killed his superior officer, but she had been too head strong for Kirk's brand of sex and had spent most of those first four months either in an agonizer or treating her own lacerations in sickbay, until McCoy had caught her. 

 

She'd been terrified he'd re-inflict the damage. Rather he'd simply raised one eyebrow, and taken over.  A few day's later, Kirk had gifted her to McCoy for his birthday.  So yeah, she knows what McCoy likes, but she also knows that he can be fair, and even generous, when the mood strikes him. That knowledge alone is what keeps her from giving in to the fear gripping her and ripping the babe out of his arms.

 

And when she calms down enough to focus, to really look at the scene in front of her, she knows that he would never hurt the child.  He's got the baby cradled so gently against his shoulder, cooing to it while he rocks back and forth, his shoulders swaying.  It's so sweet and incredibly gentle that she rubs at her eyes to make sure she's really seeing it.  And it makes her want things, things she swore she'd never want, things she didn't think she'd ever need.  But the sight of him holding that child makes her want a baby. Makes her want a baby with _him_. And that makes her heart start to race again, because without a doubt that thought could get her killed.

 

The baby is barely two days old, and small, so small that she can barely see the crown of his head over McCoy’s shoulder.  The mother is also their patient, and is resting comfortably after a difficult delivery.  She’d been just about to head off shift when she’d noticed McCoy rocking the baby back to sleep.

 

Christine nods to herself satisfied that the child is safe with McCoy and decides to make a hasty retreat before she’s seen and McCoy has time to come up with alternative ideas for her free time.     

 

She's started to turn around, when she hears the voice, the one he reserves for her.  Equally as commanding as his on duty voice, but laced with an edge of lust and deviancy just for her.  It speaks to their more intimate knowledge of one another and he relishes humiliating her with it in front of various visiting dignitaries that attempt to gain her interest.  So she can't be blamed if there is a slight tremor that goes through her when that voice breaks the silence. "I thought you were off shift?"

 

She squares her shoulders.  It is what it is at this point, playing demure and innocent would only serve to anger him.  Her voice is strong and level when she answers his question. "I was just leaving. I saw the light was on, I was going to..."

 

"Make sure I'm not killing the baby, right?  Have you so little faith in me Chapel?" His face twists into a grin, the scar that covers his face looking more maniacal as he does so.

 

Christine suddenly feels uneasy, worried about the grin, which makes the scar that ruins an otherwise deceptively handsome face look gruesome and unsettling. She tries to recover, but she is fairly certain she doesn't succeed in keeping her doubt from her voice, "I heard him crying, and I didn't know you were still here.  I just wanted to make sure he was looked after."

 

McCoy’s grin widens, but he just nods, “He’s fine.  I heard him crying and figured a little rocking would do the trick. Just like it did for my own daughter.”

 

Christine lets that news wash over her.  She’s heard the rumors, that he had an ex-wife and a daughter on earth, but he’s never confirmed them to her.  Their relationship has moved from one of dominate and subordinate-both in sickbay and in the bedroom-to mutual respect among one another, as long as she realizes he holds the power.  But the fact that she’s killed more than one woman and a man on his behalf (she kept an intruder from murdering him for his position or friendship with the captain) and that he took out Rodger Korby for her—without her asking thank you very much—not to mention the few enterprising nurses who thought they’d replace her at work and in his bed if they killed her, has made it all but impossible not to have a grudging respect for one another.

 

 Sometimes he just invites her back to his room for drinks, not anything else, and those nights are her favorite.  Not only because she leaves without pain or sore muscles, but because she can almost like that McCoy, the one who shares Bourbon and stories of his Georgia home, but never of his daughter.  She feels like they are breaking some sort of taboo the moment he speaks of the daughter.

 

She can’t really think of a reply so she just sort of nods in acknowledgment.  She sighs, thinking now is the time to make her escape, and she intends to do just that when she opens her mouth, but what comes out is a sad little, “He’s just so small.”

 

Christine nearly hits her own forehead in frustration, not that she ever would mind you, but in her own head she’s doing exactly that.  She stands tense, unsure how much longer this moment they are having will continue, and tries to ready herself for the inevitable return of the sadistic McCoy she knows and fears.

 

McCoy simply nods and shifts the child from one shoulder to the other.  The baby coos and then settles pressing his face into McCoy’s neck. “He’s a fighter though, like his momma.  I hear she’s suffered some of the worst at the hands of her man in engineering, but she’s done her best to protect this baby.  And he knows it, don’t ya boy.” McCoy pauses to rub his cheek against the babies, and Christine can feel something inside her sort of melt, like McCoy has been cracked open and inside is this whole other man. 

 

McCoy turns his attention back to her, “So try not to worry.  He’ll be fine.  I’ll see to that. And his mother should recover, and I intend to talk with the Captain about that excuse of a man who nearly killed her and the baby this afternoon.” 

 

Christine can see the hardness in McCoy’s eyes return at the mention of the baby’s father, who’d nearly killed the mother in an attempt to prevent the baby from being born, and in the end only hastened the child’s arrival. And for once she thinks she might agree with McCoy’s sadistic methods, because if anyone has it coming it’s the slime that would attempt to kill his unborn child and the mother.

 

McCoy bounces on the balls of his feet and continues speaking, “Besides, you’ve seen Chekov, you should know by now that being small by no means precludes effectiveness.” 

 

Christine nods, she is aware of the Ensign’s record. “True. And with you looking out for him, I’m sure no harm will come to the child.”

 

Christine’s internal monologue squawks at the words as soon as they leave her mouth.  She knows she needs to leave, before she says anything else. She’s not even sure where this sudden surge of understanding and trust for McCoy is coming from, but it unnerves her, and she is all too aware that it could easily prove deadly.

 

McCoy eyes her with a look that she can’t quite explain.  On any other man she’d call it lust or appreciation.  But with him, she can’t rule out animosity or distrust, or lust. 

 

Christine breathes a sigh of relief when he simply inclines his head. “Indeed.  I’ll care for him tonight, and you can take over in the morning.  Get some rest, Chris. You did very well today, even with all the extra commotion from the baby’s father. Night.”

 

Christine nods, mutters a “good night” and heads for her quarters with a sense of something out of place.  She’s puzzles, unsure of what’s just happened, of what has changes and why their dynamic appears to have shifted, because this is not the man she’s been forced to serve, in every sense, for nearly two years. 

 

She’s almost to the door of sickbay when it strikes her and she has to stop, suddenly shocked with the realization.

 

It’s the tender words he just spoke that make her realize _it_.

 

McCoy seems so gentle, so tender with the baby in his arms that she knows, in her core, that he wasn’t always the way he is now.  It was a combination of events and action and people who made him what he is today. 

 

She also realizes, and it hits her like a ton of bricks, that there is more to him than she thought. That the open expressive almost sweet expression he wears as he coos at the child yet again is the side of him that is the true part of his personality. And she nearly faints with the knowledge.

 

Because worse than knowing she’s misjudged him, more dangerous than thinking this means he’ll be soft with her, she has just realized that she is head over toes in love with one of the most devious and dangerous men she’s ever met. 

 

Her last thought as she leaves sickbay, without looking back at her CMO who is now **singing** to the baby, screams in her mind, in almost a cruel chuckle, “Y _ou’re fucked, Chris.”_

 

____________________

 

 

Christine choose to ignore her internal monologue that reminds her at every chance, that she is indeed in love with McCoy. Rather she opts for studiously ignoring him as much as possible, which really isn’t all that hard, given that they still have mother and baby in sickbay as well as the regular sort of natural injuries that occur on the Enterprise. 

 

She spends the days that she is avoiding him trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with herself.  She knows him better than anyone sure, and if this were somewhere else, some other place in time, perhaps their friendship would be one that was true and unfettered by fear, and maybe she could even love him and think for a moment he might love her back.  But that was a fantasy, one which after the first time she thinks it is banished from her mind, lest she forget who she is truly dealing with.

 

A man who makes blood and pain his sport. 

 

Sure he heals people, and has a commanding knowledge of how to fix just about every ailment.  But God does he use that knowledge to push people to the brink, to get what he wants, by any means necessary. Christine has intimate knowledge of his penchant for combining sex and bloodletting, having been tied down on more than one occasion, brought to the brink of orgasm, only have been pulled back again, by a short sharp cut, which cuts through her own desire and pleasure for a moment, bringing her back from the ledge, and furthers his. 

 

But even then he’s always gentle.  And Christine scoffs at her own traitorous mind that thinks such a though.  But it’s true.  He never pushes her further than she can tolerate, and never cuts anything that would truly damage or hurt her. He always heals his wounds, except when they are made as punishment and there have only been three of those, always in discreet places, unlike the scar he wears on his own face. 

 

Perhaps there are more sides to McCoy than she’s given him credit for. And of late she can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe he could learn to care about her, in a way that was more than just caring for one’s woman.

 

Never the less Christine isn’t ready to allow herself to admit that she might be in love with McCoy, not at all.

 

So avoidance was her plan, a plan that succeeded for nearly four days. She is caring for the child, holding him as she rocks him to sleep after he was fed, his mother had fallen asleep after nursing the baby and Christine had taken over.  She is quietly humming to the baby as she rocks him back and forth when she hears movement behind her, and instinctively whips around, one hand on the dagger that is always present in the front of her boots.

 

McCoy chuckles, “Maternal instincts have kicked in I see.”

 

Christine huffed, forgetting that she was trying to avoid him, “I’m not entirely without them you know.”

 

“So I’ve noticed.  Just afraid of them.”

 

Christine sputters, annoyed with him, “I’m not afraid. What the hell makes you think that?”

 

McCoy just takes the baby and returns him to the bassinet and checks his readings before motioning her to follow him into his office.

 

McCoy backs her against the office wall, getting into her personal space, clearly trying to intimidate her, and it works to a certain degree, but she refuses to allow him to see that, and icily asks, “What are you doing?”

 

McCoy just shakes his head, and uses his hands to pin her wrists to the door.  “Making sure you don’t run away from me again.  I don’t know what sort of game you’re playing Chapel, but I want to know why you are running away from me, why you keep avoiding me.”

 

Christine sneers, “What? Missed your bed warmer?”

 

McCoy growls in annoyance and tightens his grip on her wrists painfully, Christine is sure it will bruise. McCoy bites out his words when he speaks, clearly his patients with her is waning, “Stop it.  You’ll tell me the truth or you will regret it, I promise you that.  And if you’d prefer to warm someone else’s bed, you’d best tell me that as well, or you’ll regret it even more.”

 

Christine tries not to flinch as he starts to shake her just a little, it would only send the wrong kind of message, as she tries to figure out how satisfy him without admitting anything. She is still thinking when he shakes her again, and growls, “Tell me damn it.

 

His face is merely a centimeter or two from hers and she practically has to cross her eyes to be able to look at him.  She was distracted by his proximity and the lust that immediately pooled in her belly.  She probably ought to be afraid of him; it would be the smart thing after all. But instead all she could think about was how much she wanted him.  Wanted him to shove everything off his desk and take her right there.  How she wanted to permanently share his room, how she wanted to give him babies.  All of it, the sheer **need** for it all, are the only possible explanation for what came tumbling out of her mouth when she finally spoke.

 

“I love you.”

 

She can see McCoy tense for just a moment, his eyes widen a little, and he seems genuinely surprised  by the declaration, yet his grip on her does not loosen but he does smile a little, before he speaks again, his voice still harsh and questioning, “Because of the baby? Don’t think I didn’t notice your strange behavior started the same time he was born.”

 

She shakes her head, because for reasons she doesn’t understand, now that she has said it to him she HAS to convince him.  “No.  The baby made me realize it. But it’s happened overtime.  I think when you took Roger out for trying to take me back was when I really realized that maybe I could feel something for you, and then when I didn’t even think before I killed Nurse Coulter for trying to kill you with the poison, I realized that maybe our relationship is something more.”

 

He cocks an eyebrow at her. “Maybe? Five minutes ago you were sure. So which is it Chapel, are you in love with me, or maybe in love with me?”

 

She clears her throat, but refuses to allow her voice to waver when she speaks, “I’m in love with you.  I said maybe because I doubt you are in love with me too.  And I’m not sure if I’ve just dug my own grave.”

 

He chuckles at that and then leans in to kiss her. Fierce, and controlling, and demanding.  Like he’s trying to make her prove what she’s said.

 

So she does.  She return his kisses with veracity, and gives back what she gets from him. So when he pulls back, she is panting and wide eyed, and praying that this turns out better than she has any reasonable hope for.

 

He still has her pinned against the wall when he speaks, “The Captain would have you killed for that kind of language if you were still his woman.  Or maybe not.  Maybe he’d chain you up in one of the rooms downstairs, where he keeps his interesting little creatures and let one of them make use of you.  Or invite all the male crew members in and let them have their way with you, then leave you tethered in an agonize booth for days, until you wished you were dead.”

 

She feels fear startle in her heart, but knows at this point there is nothing she can do, so she tries to appear calm when she responds. “I know.  That’s why I was hiding from you.”

 

He smirks, “Then you’re not as dumb as you look.”  He lets go of her long enough to point to the scar on his face.  “You know how I got this?”

 

She shakes her head, paralyzed by the iciness his eyes take on as he speaks. “The last woman who said she loved me did this.”

 

Christine nods, reaching her hand towards his face, and breaths a small breath of relief when he allows it. “I won’t.  You’d kill me. Like you said, I’m not as dumb as I apparently look.”

 

He considers her for a moment, his gaze level with hers silently daring her to look away, to do anything. Christine gathers her courage and refuses to look away ready for whatever this stupid revelation has brought her.

 

She is unprepared though, when he pulls her back in for a kiss, walking her away from the wall and towards his desk, as he uses his mouth to attack hers.

 

She feels her legs bend as he pushes her down on top of the desk, and she goes willingly, moaning as he uses his tongue to fuck her mouth in a way that promises of more to come.

 

She returns the kiss, but remains passive as he starts to shove her skirt up.

 

He steps away as his hands find her hips and the lace band of her underwear.  He bites her neck, and she knows it will bruise.

 

His voice is rough and teasing when he speaks, “come on Christine.  If you love me then act like it.  If you want to act like a passive victim, then we stay the way we are now.”

 

Her breath catches at the implication there could be more.  “And if I don’t act like a passive victim?”

 

“Then you stay my woman, but we make it official, in the eyes of the Empire and anyone who tries to take you will have to fight me.”

 

She just nods her head, and then pulls him in for a searing kiss.  Her hands scrabbling at his pants, as she dominates the kiss, licking into his mouth, and giving him his answer with her body.  It is after all, the way they communicate best. 

 

He has her panties off, and two of his fingers plunging in and out of her by the time she breaks the kiss and fails at pushing his pants down.

 

He chuckles and gets his pants and underwear off in record time.  He’s back in her space, leaning against the desk, keeping her pinned under him, and is kissing her again in the blink of an eye. 

 

It’s a little disconcerting to her, all the kissing, because he’s never been this affectionate with her before, but she doesn’t have time to really process the thought,  because he’s spreading her legs wide and is pressing inside her and all of her cognizant thought stutters to a stop.

 

It’s perfect, the slowly maddening slide of him in her, his fingers dancing across her clit, while his tongue plunders her mouth.  And before she can really enjoy it, really impress upon her mind that they are having sex and he’s not cutting her, or deliberately hurting her, just taking pleasure from her body  and giving it back tenfold she’s right on the edge.

 

He must be able to tell too because his kisses get longer, deeper, as his thrusts get faster and more forceful.  And when his fingers stop teasing her, and start making contact with her clit in the most delicious of ways, she is nearly lost.

 

And then she’s coming, while he thrusts into her, knocking her back onto the desk with the force of a desperate man. And when he bites her shoulder as he empties inside her she reaches a level she’s never known with him before.  And she thinks she may pass out, but she can’t care, can’t focus on anything but the white-hot pleasure and the reassuring comfort of his body holding her against his desk.

 

When she comes back to herself they are both slumped on the floor, she’s cradled against his body, a way that is so comforting and unusual that she is still not sure how to react to it, but she knows without a doubt she likes it.

 

He presses a kiss to her head as he speaks, “So all this because of a baby.  You want to keep him? I could arrange it.”

 

And while that sentence should scare her, because he’s all but offered to kill for her, for them, to create a family, she simple smiles and relaxes into him and shakes her head. “No.  Scotty would demand something for the death of his second best technician, plus the word is that she is one of his women.  You would owe the Captain a debt after he sided with you, and it’s not worth that.”

 

He smiles at her, a small grin, but a smile none the less, “What makes you think the Captain would side with me?”

 

“I’m not stupid Len.  I know he is your closest friend.”

 

He sighs, “Fine. We’ll send the baby home with its mother tomorrow.”

Christine nods, a little more in love with him for offering. She tips her head up and gives him a kiss. “Good idea.  But that doesn’t mean we can’t try and have a baby of our own."

 

He nods and kisses her shoulder, “Give me a little bit darlin', and we’ll try again.”

 

Christine hums a little and rests against his chest.  She’s never been so glad to have been reckless when dealing with him.  And if she sends the baby home the next day with an extra toy she used scraps of fabric to make, well no one has to know.  And besides she owed him something, after all that baby was how she realized she was in love with McCoy and how she became the second most powerful woman on the Enterprise.


End file.
